all I am are darkened lines
by KeeperofSeeds
Summary: Padmé visits Obi-Wan on Tatooine as a Force-Ghost.
1. Chapter 1

Obi Wan first sees her while camped out on a ridge, watching Luke and his friends. He truly is Anakin's son he thinks lowering the macrobinoculars. That's when he sees something out of the corner of his eye. A hint of blue on the rocks below. Smiling, he turns, ready to greet his old Master. It's been a long while since Qui Gon had appeared. But when he turns it isn't his Master.

Padme Amidala's surprised face looks back at him.

"Obi Wan" she calls out, but it sounds as if she is yelling out over a great distance. He drops his both his binoculars and his canteen, ignores the precious water slowly seeping out and almost begins to slide down the ridge in his haste to climb over rocks and get closer to her.

She is reaching out a hand to him and calling out to him again, and he's no more than a dozen paces away from her, already reaching his hand out to meet hers when she flickers out of existence.

He's left alone again on the mountain, breath heavy in the heat, staring out at the midday haze in confusion.

*

He mediates that night. Reaching out his senses he searches for the hint of a presence that signifies Qui Gon Jinn. He has so many questions. He'd always believed Padme to be Force Null. How could she be appearing now before him? It made no sense. He could be going mad or course, alone too long in his small hut with the heat and only the occasional desert vermin for company, but he didn't think he'd lost his wits. Not yet anyway.

He thought through other possibilities. Could Padme's time with Anakin activated some latent ability, however small? Or perhaps the children…the swirl of the Force surrounding her had been strong in those last moments between the birth of her children and the chaos of his own emotions and the ending of the Republic. He'd never heard of such a thing but Padme, Force or no, had always been a strong presence in life. Perhaps the strength of the Force in her children had had an effect on her.

If only Qui Gon would materialize. Even cryptic musings would be better than nothing. It's been weeks and weeks since his Master appeared to him. Weeks he's been alone, only going to town for more supplies to fix his vaporator or heading up mountains to keep an eye on Luke. Weeks where the individual days blend into each other, a blur of sand and sun and meditation and glimpses of sun bleached hair seen from afar.

That thought drags him out of his meditation. Luke. Could the boy be drawing the ghost of his mother forward somehow? He isn't sure what all Owen and Beru have told the boy, but perhaps a young boy's longing is enough to bring her forth. Why she would appear near himself instead of the boy is a mystery however. Maybe her presence gravitated to who it had know longest in life? Either way, the real question now is, how to reach her again.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: this bit takes place after the events in the SW comic, issue #7. TLDR there is a horrible drought and Jabba's thugs are stealing water from all the farmers and Luke, who is all of like 8, goes off by himself at night to take some water back and gets caught. Then Ben tracks him down and kicks all sorts of bounty hunter ass with the Force and saves Luke, who conveniently gets knocked out and doesn't see his savor.

Also, I have no idea where this story is going but I love me some old Ben stewing in the desert in his guilt and sadness so I couldn't resist just giving this prompt a try.

* * *

He is dozing in the early morning light, still tired after the nights events. I'm out of practice, he thinks. Using the Force again after so long combined with the fear he'd felt for young Luke had left him shaking once the adrenalin had worn off. Then the walk home back to the Lars' had taken even longer than usual. Especially with the added burden of carrying the boy home. That wonderfully brave, foolish boy. His aunt and uncle should be finding him right about now.

"They did. He's safe now." a voice whispers.

"Good good," Obi Wan mumbles drawing his still dusty cloak tighter. It will be a few hours yet until the suns drive away the lingering chill of the night.

Then he feels a cool touch brush across his forehead.

He stills and slowly opens his eyes.

Padme's smiling face greets him as she brushes his too long hair back from his face.

"You did it. You saved him." he hears again, though her mouth remains shut, smiling softly still.

He gapes at her like a fish. His tired brain trying to process her reappearance. He doesn't want to move, worried that if he reaches out she'll disappear once more.

She pulls back her hand and giggles, sounding younger, more the girl than the fearsome Senator.  
The cool touch reaches the edge of his robe and brushes over his hand.

"Thank you Obi Wan. Truly, I could not wish for a better friend."

"Padme…" he feels overwhelmed. All these years alone and now he cannot put two words together to greet an old friend.

To his embarrassment he feels tears start to well up. Carefully he turns his palm over and grasps the small luminescent hand.  
"I'm sorry," he rasps out over the sudden lump in his throat. He's sorry for everything. For her death, for not seeing where Anakin was heading, for not watching over Luke better and-

and-

he's not sure why he feels so overwhelmed.

Lying in bed talking to ghosts certainly isn't what he'd consider normal but normal went out the window years ago. He's always had better control over his emotions than this. Maybe he really has cracked. If all it takes is seeing old friends to set him off.

Padme has both hands grasping his as he stares at her through the tears.  
"Oh Obi Wan. How long has it been?"

he thinks she's asking how many years it's been since she died but before he can think back she continues,

"how many years have you been alone?"

Obi Wan snaps his mouth shut.

"There's no need to punish yourself like this." she reaches back up with one hand and brushes away his tears.

"Rest. I'll be back tomorrow" her voice whispers as he sinks back into sleep. "Sleep."

and with that he sinks back into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time he wakes again it's past midday. He spends the rest of the evening worried that he imagined her or that he missed the chance to speak with her and she won't be able to come back.

He meditates after supper. The Force swirls around him like dust in a sand storm, but he can gleam no information about how he should proceed. He allows himself to sink deeper and trusts the currents to take him where they will.

Trust in the will of the Force. He can almost hear his old Master's voice.

It's been a long time since he's had to trust in something or someone. It no longer comes easy. Too many betrayals. Too many friends lost. Too many years with no one but himself to rely on.

He meditates deep into the night, trying to release his feelings into the Force and remember trust worked.

The morning brings with it a nervous energy despite his long meditation. It hums beneath his skin, making him twitchy. To keep his mind occupied after he's checked the vaporators he picks up minor chores around the house that have been put off. Shoring up and plastering over the small cracks around the door from the last storm, organizing his small stores of goods. It's too soon to show his face in town still, with Jabba's thugs on the lookout for the stranger who sabotaged them, and he'll have to make things last a while longer.

He sighs. That reminds him, he should check on Luke again. Make sure the boy hadn't suffered an ill effects from his bump on the head. It was doubtful that Owen Lars would trust him enough to confide in him if there were a problem, and perhaps seeing Luke again, even from afar, would once again call Padme's presence forth.

For once, in a very long time, things go his way. He's sitting on the ridge, macrobinoculars trained on the distant Lars home. He'd watched Owen appear and begin working on a speeder. The motions easy in the dimming light. He turned to call out to someone behind him and a small figure darted forward carrying a box. Tools no doubt.  
Obi Wan sighed in relief. Luke seemed fine. Owen's movements showing him more than any forced conversation would.

"Thank you again Obi Wan." the soft voice drifts from beside him and he turns to face her.

"I've been watching him too," she smiles fondly in the direction he'd been looking. "He growing up to be a fine boy. Brave, but impulsive. But I suppose that runs in his family."

It's been long enough now that he can think back such memories with fondness. Of a young Queen defying the Senate to be with her people, of forming strange alliances and daring infiltration plans. Of Anakin, rushing off in battle with nothing but half formed plans and absolute confidence in his own abilities.

A light winks off across the sand. Owen must be finished for the evening. The first of the suns is almost to the horizon. Padme seems unconcerned with the growing dark. Well he supposes ghosts have little to fear from the creatures in the Wasteland.

"I should head back home." he says, biting back the request on his lips. Padme isn't anything like his Master, she isn't anything close to a Jedi, but one does not make demands on Force ghosts, this he knows.

"I'll follow" she says, drawing her pale skirts up. "You have much to catch me up on."  
and with that they begin the journey back across the Wastes to his small house, Padme seeming to glide along the sand beside him.

"I didn't realize how lost I was," he admits, as they sit in the darkness of his home. He finds it easier to speak in the dark, with only the gentle glow of her form illuminating them.

They'd stuck to lighter, more mundane topics on the walk back. She'd drank in story after story of Luke, and laughed at his retellings of early misadventures as he'd gotten used to Tatooine living. She told him quiet moments she'd been able to glimpse of Leia. He'd treasure that story. He dare not contact Bail these days, dare not risk drawing attention to himself or Luke.

Now, sitting on the ragged couch with Padme hovering beside him, they delve into deeper topics. He reveals emotions he had barely dared admit to himself. His fears and his anger. Fears for Luke, of not being able to watch over the boy properly, of not being there the next time he wanders off to do something so fantastically stupid and brave. Fears of fading away, of dying alone here in the desert with no pyre and no one left to speak the ancient words over his body and the only the sand to wear him down and buried his bones. Lost and forgotten beneath the suns.

He admits his anger in halting whispers as well. Anger at Owen Lars for not letting him train Luke, anger at the Council for how could they all have sat there and missed the corruption seated at the very heart of their society, anger at himself for failing his duties, for not being able to help the people here. For failing Anakin, for not reaching out and doing more and...and tears are falling now and he foolishly thinks about wasting water so soon after the drought and what a ridiculous notion… and that's when he feels the cool press of lips against his forehead.

He shatters. Folding in on himself and just feels.

Padme's small form glows brighter as if trying to counteract the crushing despair and darkness he feels and he drinks in her comfort like a plant too long neglected and left dry. She pulls him close and whispers her own secrets instead. Whispers her hopes for a better future, whispers of her joy she feels in watching Luke grow and play and act so bravely. Her pride in Leia's fiery passion. She brushes kisses across his head and over his closed eyelids and down tear stained cheeks and tries to lessen his burden as best she can.  
Two lonely souls drawn together in the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

He doesn't speak of the grief that weighs him down again after that first night, but actions say what words cannot: the way he reaches for Padme's hand as they sit on the same mountain ridge where she first appeared and look down at Luke, the way he sits next to her while he eats letting his hand carefully brush against her own as he sets out a second mug of tea that she can hold but not consume. The way he looks at her, constantly sneaking peeks while he attempts to fix his vaporator or while meditating. Each look drinking her in as if he wants to bury the memory of her in his mind. As if she might vanish in any moment, never to return.

A very real possibility. One they are careful not to discuss. She'd brought it up once but he quickly cut her off, almost harsh, the knuckles on his hand gone white as he smacks the small mug he'd been holding down on what passes for his kitchen table.

"There's no use thinking of the future. We'll only drive ourselves mad with possibilities." He notices her wide eyes and carefully releases his grip on the cup and searches for a rag to clean the spill. "Live in the moment," as my old Master said.

Padme sees the chance for a distraction and stepping closer to place a hand on his back, takes it. "Tell me more about him."

She'd spent only a few weeks with the Jedi Master before his death, most of it in her guise as handmaiden. She'd been too frustrated and fearful at the time to reach out and connect with her protectors. Now she would learn more. More of this man who shaped Obi Wan.

The rest of the evening is spent reliving happier memories.

She does not know how long this gift of continued awareness will last, but while it does, she will do her best to lighten Obi Wan's burden. He who loved her husband, in his own way, and who now watches over her one child and lives out his life on this strange and dangerous world she'd thought never to return to.


	5. Chapter 5

She begins to feel herself fading.

Her presence on this plain of existence growing weaker. It becomes harder to reach out and make her hand grasp the mugs of tea Obi Wan sets out for her. She can still feel the bond to her children, bright lights like the twin suns of Tatooine, guiding her spirit to each of them, but the physical manifestation is getting harder to maintain.

She sees Obi Wan watching her still, waiting for the moment she disappears. It pains her to see him reduced to this. The once proud Knight, alone, drowning in his guilt and shame.

She does her best to distract him. To remind him of happier times. She asks for stories as he works, and tells her own in return as they hike through the desert. "I miss the greenery of Naboo," she confesses on one such walk.

"Your incorporeal!" he exclaims. "You don't even have to deal with the sand." and she laughs, reminded of Anakin's old complaints.

That reminds her of her children. How strange that they should grow up in such different places. She hopes they will one day be fortunate enough to somehow meet and talk about their homes.

How lucky she is for having such good friends, to care for them both, to protect them and shield them, and how glad she is for this strange blessing of being able to watch over them still. For being able to connect to the living, even for this short time.

That night, as Obi Wan drifts in an uneasy sleep, she leaves his homestead and visits the Lars place.

She hasn't often appeared this way to Luke. Leia had been faster to sense her before she found herself able to materialize and more accepting of an "imaginary friend." Luke had been curious but more suspicious. Tatooine was a harder world, even for dreamers like her son was turning out to be. But now he accepted her presence, if only as a friendly desert spirit. Sometimes he even ask Beru for small bowls of offerings to be left out for her, the spirit he claimed watched over him.  
She appeared in his room and just let herself float and look. Looked at his small body, all legs and elbows at this point it seemed, curl up in the thin bed. He looked happy.

She brushes light fingers through the mop of his hair. He sighs in his sleep, but does not wake.

She will have to remember to keep this trust in her friends. Trust Obi Wan to keep watch. To trust that Owen and Beru would continue caring for Luke.

She would not torment Obi Wan with echoes of herself once she faded from this physical plain. Able to sense her and she him, but unable to respond? No, no. She would return to Alderaan, return to the green and the chaos of the city where she could hide her presence in crowds and in water itself.  
She was not made for desert worlds.

It would be soon now. She can feel it coming. Like water leaking through a cracked vase, her hold on the world ebbing.

With one last look at her son, she turns to the rising suns, and towards Obi Wan's.

* * *

She is waiting in the kitchen for him when he wakes, and smiles as he quietly places the customary two cup of tea on the table.

She does not reach for it today.

He doesn't notice until his own cup is almost empty.

He looks sad but stays silent, swirling the last dregs of tea in his own mug.

"You're leaving soon, aren't you?" he finally asks. That makes it sound like she was voluntarily leaving. Perhaps going on vacation somewhere pleasant.

"Yes." she replies simply. He doesn't look up. After weeks of watching, now he cannot seem to raise his eyes to meet hers.

"I'm sorry," she says, not quite sure why she is apologizing for something beyond her control. She wants to move closer, wants to reach out and comfort, but she isn't sure if he would welcome the touch. Or even if she was still able to touch him at all.

He looks up finally, tears shimmer in his eyes. He looks so old suddenly, in a way she hadn't noticed before. Hair streaked with grey, the rest bleached by years in the sun. The lines on his face, creases worn in by Time and grief and sand and sun. She knows her own face is unchanged.

* * *

He doesn't work that day. They stay in the house instead, waiting.

Obi Wan goes back to bed, back to the place she'd finally managed to appear to him, and she curls up on the floor, head resting on a translucent arm as curls flow behind her, as in water.

He asks for stories, and she provides. Tales of her time as Queen, of days spent attempting to confuse Captain Typho as to who was in the Queen's makeup today, or training with her handmaidens. She tells of her friends in the Senate and watches him roll his eyes in fond exasperation when she mentions Bail. As the suns chase each other across the sky she even tells him stories of the short time she and Anakin had at the Lake Country. Of how they'd picnicked in the rolling green fields and about how he'd teased her.

As the suns begin to set, so too does Padme's faint glow begin to wane. Her voice takes on an echo-y quality and she finds that she must speak louder than usual in order to be heard.

Obi Wan, who had been gently nodding towards sleep on the bed, jerked away when she finally paused.

One look at her face and he knows. It won't be long now.

Padme shifts closer, the fading light of her body dimly highlighting the curve of Obi Wan's cheek, the mess of his hair.

"Thank you again Obi Wan." she says eyes locked on his. "Keep watching over Luke for me. And yourself."

"What?" he says tears beginning to brim up again. He's cried more in these past weeks than in the entire past year.

"Take care of yourself, my friend. You are not to blame. For any of it. Care for yourself, and stay safe." her voice is growing softer and she raises a hand up in farewell.

Between one breathe and the next, she is gone.

Obi Wan gasps.

No.

No no. It's couldn't be that fast. He reaches a hand out to where she knelt last, in denial.

"Padme?" he whispers, and strains his senses, feeling for her, listening hard. But she is gone.

The deep well that houses Obi Wan's grief bubbles forth again, tears falling in the empty spaces around him. He reaches his senses out farther, maybe she only faded from here but is still by Luke, but he feels nothing of her presence.

He lets his head fall down to the soft blanket of his bed and weeps.

Is this his destiny? To always end up alone? To weather the storm by himself?

He eventually falls into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

The next morning he wakes early, feeling the ache of a night spent emotionally exhausted and physically curled up too tight for his aging bones.

He doesn't feel like breakfast. Instead he tries to meditate. Tries to release his feelings into the Force. They rage around him, like a sandstorm. Grief, pain, despair. He cannot yet let them go. He doesn't want to. He wants to sit here and let this grief wash over him like wave.

Before he can let despair sink in and truly take a hold of him, a voice he's longed to hear for years emerges as if swept in on a warm breeze.

"Fear not my Padawan. A Jedi is never truly alone."


End file.
